All There is to Hold Me
by writergirl8
Summary: When Harry Potter throws Ron's blanket over Hermione the night that Ron left, he had no idea how much it would become to her. Years later, one cold winter night, Hermione tells the story of Ron's blanket, and all it has meant to her in their lifetime.
1. Chapter 1

The little white flakes drift easily past the window outside of the warm home. While the house is chilly, it is not uninviting. I stand inside a familiar, warmly lit room, cradling a new life that has just been born into the world. He coos up at me, his tiny little lips forming a perfect O shape, and I can't help but lean down and press a kiss to his soft baby head, out of which many little red hairs sprout. There is no doubt that this little boy has Weasley blood in him. He has his grandmother's eyes and his grandfather's hair. Just the way we'd have it. The baby boy screams like a Weasley, too. Ron and I notice this as soon as he enters the house, before he even gets to his nursery. We lightly joke that this must mean he feels right at home here. As Ron and I drink in the setting, neither of us can help thinking about all the screaming matches that have gone on here, some of them louder then even this little boy is being. Late night arguments about which missions Ron should take, how late I should stay at work, and exactly how much Ron should drink when he goes out with Harry. Screaming matches in fancy outfits after Ministry Balls, arguing over the latest political standpoint we just can't agree on. Shouts of anger in the living room in the morning, or in our bedroom wearing pajamas, or standing in the doorway to the house with frantic eyes. But somehow, everything else just seemed to make these seem like inevitable, trivial little moments in our relationship. Perhaps that's true. Maybe those moments are inevitable. Maybe the things that make or break relationships aren't the couple's ability to fight, but their ability to make up.

Fortunately, Ron Weasley and I are good at both.

"He's cold," I say gesturing to the little bundle in my arms. "He's actually begun to shiver."

Ron mumbles something angrily about the house being much too cold for anyone's liking, but I know him far too well to sit on it for too long. Ron treats this house like he treats his pets- he finds everything to complain about, everything to roll his eyes about, but in the end, he loves this house more then anything. Instead of dwelling on the statement, I kiss his lips and tell him to get the blanket first and adjust the thermostat second. He leaves the room for a second, then pokes his head back in, as if I haven't given him enough direction. Apparently I haven't.

"Which one?" Ron asks. Our eyes instinctively travel down to the blue bundle lying in my arms, and my finger travels up to lightly caress the soft cheek of the baby. I know without a doubt what I'm going to say, and I think Ron does, too.

"The special one." I tell him, and he shakes his head as he backs out of the room. Ron, you see, doesn't know why the blanket is so special to me. After all these years, I've never told him. He's asked many times, but it's always felt like a pleasurable little secret, too good to let go. Ron, however impatient he may be, is still doting. He always obliges my reasonable whims, no matter how eccentric they may seem to the unknowledgeable bystander. "After all these years, I think he deserves to know. He's been good for at least half a decade, don't you think?"

But of course the boy won't know. He hasn't been alive half a decade. He hasn't even known his own mother for a very long time, much less Ron.

"Maybe I'll tell_ you. _For a bit of practice, hm?"

He isn't crying, which is encouraging. I remember how nervous I was when Rose was born, worried that I wouldn't be able to get her to stop wailing. This is inexpressibly easier.

"It started with a heartbreak." 

_The rain pours down on the tent, and I can feel my heart jump to my throat. I think I'm going to be sick. I think I'm going to start to cry. I think I'm going to run into his arms and beg him to stop. Every insult to Harry is a knife in my heart. Every word spoken makes the pounding in my chest escalate to further heights then it has ever escalated before. I watch for the usual signs of danger that occur when we fight, but Ron surpasses all expectations. Instead of the tips of his ears glowing red, his whole face turns that infamous Weasley color. Instead of his face contorting in anger, his face contorts in an inexpressible rage that is accompanied by the sharp twist of pain. And I watch, wondering how I can so willingly love someone that is so willing to hurt his best friend. But I know that this doesn't count. Ron would never hurt Harry under normal circumstances. It's just..._

_"The locket! Take the locket off, Ron!" I cry, but the boys are too busy yelling at each other to hear me, and I am forced to watch as my worst nightmare plays out before me. This is worse then anything, this is more painful then anything, this hurts more then anything that ever has and ever will happen to me. Of that I am sure. Of that, I have to be sure. Because what else could possibly hurt more? Physical pain, I'm think, could never compare to the emotional heartbreak of the boy you love screaming at- well, the boy who lived. _

_And now he's asking me to choose. He's asking me to choose between him, and a promise accompanied by a broken heart. The answer I so want to say is on the tip of my tongue. Yes, Ron. Yes to everything. Yes, I'll go with you, and maybe if I finally choose you, maybe if finally you see that you are worth just as much, you'll be able to tell me you love me. Maybe if I leave Harry and go with you, we'll get married, and have children, and grow old with only the burden of one_ single_ regret. _

_Of course, I can't do that. I can't say that. Ron_ has_ to ask a question involving the one way I would pick Harry over him. Why couldn't he have asked me something so much simpler? Something that would have seemed harder hours ago, but seems easier now. Instead of asking me to pick between abandoning Harry or rejecting Ron, he could have asked me something that has one possible answer, an answer that goes in his favor. _

"_Who do you love in a non platonic way? Me or him?"_

_Instead, he has to smash the pieces of my heart, when they have already had such a clean break. As I warily eye the pieces out of the corner of my eye, I answer his question. I pick Harry. And I don't think the-chosen-one will ever know how hard that was for me. In spite of how carefully I was guarding my heart, the broken pieces shatter even more. Ron's leaving. Ron walks out. I run after him. I watch his back go, memorizing every detail subconsciously. The way his shoulder blades hunch together very slightly. The way his shoulders are shaking up and down. I wonder if he's crying. If so, for what reason? The one I hope he's crying for? Probably not. It's become clear to me, now more then ever, that my life never works out the way I want it to. And still, him being there always gave me hope. Him leaving me makes me deflate like a balloon. In the back of my mind, I wonder if I will ever get that hope back. But in the most prominent part of my mind, I am still memorizing the exact color of his hair, now damp and plastered to his forehead. _

_With a spurt of energy I didn't know I possessed, I leap forward and grab the back of the hair I am so fixated on. Ron lets out a yelp, and I feel somewhat satisfied at the fact that I might be able to hurt him half as much as he is hurting me. A few seconds later, however, the feeling vanishes as he turns around and faces me with anguish filled eyes. _

"_Don't do this Ron!" I scream over the rain, tears slipping eagerly down my cheeks. His eyes trail down to them, his mind registers the shake in my voice. And still, the dots do not totally connect. Stupid Ron. Daft Ron. Insecure, confidence-less, angry Ron. Wonderful Ron. Gorgeous Ron. Loyal Ron. _

_Maybe. _

"_Let go, Hermione!" he roars, and I let out a shocked whimper at the way he's yelling at me. This is new. This is different. This isn't a flirty fight. This is raw anger. _

"_NO!" I scream at him, and he seems just as taken aback by my timber as I do. Does he notice that I already have let go? Does he notice that my hand, instead of gripping his wet hair forcefully, is now softly stroking the wet strands? Apparently he does, because a second later, he reaches up and gently removes the hand from his head. Slowly, almost as if he doesn't want this moment to end, he places it on my cheek, stroking the soft skin on my face once, twice, three times with his thumb. Then he turns on his heel. "RON!" I sob one last time, but he's already gone. He's already dissapparated, leaving me standing there in the rain, sopping wet and wondering what it was about me that wasn't at all good enough for Ron Weasley. _

_The tent is still there, its cheerful, twinkling lights blinking innocently at me from the place that I now think of as a small, orange version of hell. Too hurt to stop my tears from flowing, I trudge back up to the tent with the salty drops pouring down my face and mixing in with the rain. As I climb through the flap, I see Harry standing in the same place he had when I'd run out of the tent, staring at the orange canvas. Unable to look at him, I throw myself into an armchair and continue to sob. What do you do when you've hit beyond rock bottom? What do you do when the boy you're in love with possibly hates you and your own mum doesn't have the slightest idea of who you are? You forget. You _have_ to forget. Let go. Move on. If you don't, you'll fall to pieces. So I try to imagine that every tear that pours from my eyes are little bits of Ronald Bilius Weasley being detoxed from my system. There. Now I don't care that his patronus is a terrier, my favorite animal. Now I don't care that _my_ patronus, an otter, is so closely related to weasels. Now I don't care that his birthday is in March. Now I don't care that the color of blue his eyes are became my favorite very soon after we met. Now I don't care..._

_Harry throws a blanket over me, and all of the progress I have supposedly been making shoots out the window. Because the blanket is Ron's. And, merlin save me, it smells just like him. It smells like his special variation of that intoxicating boy scent that no girl has an easy time escaping. It smells like memories that I shouldn't be remembering right now. Like late night prefect duties, firelit conversations in the Gryffindor common room, and memorable fights over the little things. It smells like love, hurt, adoration, and confusion. It smells like home. _

_When we first got to the tent, I made sure Ron had the best blanket. Maybe that's because I have feelings for him. Maybe it's because he was inured. Either way, Ron got the softest, warmest, least smelly blanket. And, after months of sleeping under it, it smells just like him. It's a pretty color, really. A brownish-red, almost what our hair might look like if you blended two strands together. That might also be another reason why I chose this blanket._

_Over the time period that Ron is gone, that blanket becomes everything to me. I make a point of never wearing perfume so that it always smells like him. I make a point of never letting Harry use it. I don't wash it, not even once. I even create a duplicate so that Harry will think I'm not hiding a blanket from him. The duplicate looks the same, but it doesn't smell like Ron. To me, it is worthless. I sob into Ron's blanket every night, trying to pretend that Ron is wrapped around me instead of the blanket I now covet. I banish all thoughts of myself as a strong, confident person, because, lets face it, if I need a blanket this much because Ron's gone away, I'm not strong. And I've only just begun to gain a little confidence in my looks. That went down the drain as soon as he walked out. And still, the way he was looking at me as he stroked my cheek... Hope revs to life in my stomach. I squash it like a bug._

_I start to think that, since Ron abandoned me, maybe I should get some payback. Maybe I should write Viktor Krum. Or fall in love with Harry. One night, I touch the top of his head, and he closes his eyes at my touch. I feel a grim satisfaction at the tension that has suddenly, randomly been thrown between us. When I walk into the tent, I curl up on my bed, breathing in the scent of my blanket. Ron washes over me. And I feel shockingly guilty, like I've betrayed a man who I've never kissed, never held, never spoken those forbidden words to. I love you. And I play these stupid games for a long, long time. Sniffing that blanket, hoping to god that the scent doesn't leave it. And just when it's about to, the unthinkable happens.  
><em>

_Ron comes back. Over the years, I will come to learn that he always, always comes back. _

The baby stretches his arms, beating his little fists against my chest. This shakes me from my memory, and my eyes focus back towards the angel lying in my arms. He almost immediately realizes that he has my attention, and he gurgles happily. Smiling at him, I shift him in my arms, which are starting to get tired.

"I wonder what's taking Ron so long," I say to myself. Then, louder, I say to the baby boy, "If he looses that blanket, I swear I'm going to kill him. I brought it into the family room when we found out you were coming so that it would be at easy access!"

Sighing to myself over the frustration Ron so often send to me, I tighten the blankets around the baby.

"Well, I guess I can continue with the story. Where were we? It started with a heartbreak. Then followed torture."


	2. Chapter 2

"It started with heartbreak. Then followed torture."

"_BILL! BILL! COME QUICK!"_

_The door to shell cottage bursts open, and out runs Bill Weasley, his red ponytail flying behind him. I watch the ginger color streak through the air, illuminated by starlight. When the eldest Weasley reaches us, he swears loudly and yells out the name of his wife. Ten seconds later, there is a slam of the screen door as Fleur runs out after her husband, her eyes more serious then I would have thought possible. As the two gaze down at my body, I decide to close my own eyes, as the effort of keeping them open is absolutely too much. _

"_What happened?" Fleur whispers. _

"_Bellatrix Lestrange." Ron says. His voice is rough around the edges, as if he's trying too hard not to cry. Luckily, his hold around me is soft, gentle. The way he touches me works like a pain killer, slowly making me warmer and less shaken up. Unfortunately, it's not nearly enough. I'm shivering in his arms, half from fear, half from chill, and I keep picturing Bellatrix appearing above me, demanding I tell her where the sword is. Her dangerous eyes glint down at me, her mouth twists into a sinister smile, and her wand slowly raises. _

_Unable to help it, I utter a little scream and begin to shake more violently in Ron's arms. He drops to his knees with me still in his arms and frantically says my name over and over again. I've never heard his voice like this. I don't like it. I do like it. I don't like how frightened, desperate and hysterical he sounds. I do like that the fright, desperation, and hysteria is all for me. At this thought, I almost stop shaking. But suddenly, the thought of Bellatrixs' whispers in my ear, the ones where she told me all the things she'd do to hurt Ron next... they come back to me. I let out another terrified, high pitched scream that finally breaks Ron's resolve not to cry in front of Bill and Fleur. He lays me on the grass and bends over me, stroking my hair away from my face as I thrash on the ground. For a long time, Bill and Fleur just stand there. As my eyes are closed, I don't know what they're doing, but I have a feeling they're staring at the two of us, wondering when we grew up so much. I wonder that, too. I'm in the middle of pondering it when Ron breaks our long silence. _

"_We have to do something!"_

_His voice is so firm, so controlling, it causes Bill and Fleur to jump right into action._

"_Maybe I should carry her, Ron?" Bill says as Ron starts to lift me up again. Ron's reply is in a harsh tone, full of so much anger it's almost as though Bellatrix is asking for another go at me._

"_No. Absolutely not. I'm not letting her go." _

_Pausing only to wipe a tear away from the corner of my eye, Ron lifts me back into his arms. He carries me up the staircase, careful not to crash my head against the wall of the narrow stairway. I know for a fact that this causes him several painful bumps, but he doesn't say anything, and it only proves to me further that he has grown from a skinny, self conscious boy to a strong, brave man that will spend his life taking care of whoever he wants to be taking care of. Whoever that lucky girl may be. Whether it is me, or Lavender Brown, or... _me_._

"_Put 'er on zee bed, please." Fleur says in her calmest voice. Ron obliges. I'm shivering so much, the bed starts to shake along with me. In another context, this whole scene would be awkward and nerve wracking. But now, I'm in too much pain to think about the implications of the first time Ron ever lies me down on a bed. Instead, I waste my energy listening to the talk as Fleur tells Ron to pile blankets on me. I hear noise after noise as blanket after blanket is gently thrown over me, placed with such love and care there is no doubt as to who was assigned the job. And suddenly, there it is. The smell. Ron's smell. The smell of Ron's blanket. I let out a whimper, and one of my hands flies up to find it. Fortunately, it's on top. Unfortunately, I can't quite get it. Silently, a pair of big hands cover my small ones, and I let them fall limp as Ron takes the blanket from the top and hands it to me. My sigh of relief is audible as I ball it up, hug it, and press it against my nose. _Stupid girl_, I think to myself._ Helplessly sniffing a blanket. Stupid, worthless girl. But I'm only helpless because this is a time of weakness,_ I defend._ I don't do this on an every day basis.

_Soon, Ron turns my face towards his, and starts carefully wiping off the blood with a cool cloth. It seems that we've come full circle from the start of our journey when I was wiping blood from his arm. We sit there for a long time, and I pretend to sleep, try to make my breathing slow and even. Apparently, I don't do a good job, because Ron whispers,_

"_Why were you so desperate to get to _that _blanket in particular?" I don't want to tell him, so I remain silent, trying to keep up my charade. "I don't understand. God, what an understatement. There are so many things about you I don't understand, Hermione. I wish you made sense."_

_I have the sudden urge to let him know that the feeling is mutual, but it is squelched by the desire to hear the other things Ron has to say to me._

_"I think you really are sleeping," he whispers, laughing softly. "You've never been good at faking sleep, you know. I can always tell. I thought you were faking... but obviously you would have made some snappy comment by now if you could hear me."_

_A snappy comment like... I love you? Would that work, Ron?_

"_Jesus, Hermione. I don't know when I have ever been so scared," Ron says in time, sounding once again like the frightened little boy that I've known much longer than the brave man. "I wish... I wish I never had to hear you scream. I think it's literally going to haunt me forever. I think I'm going to wake up _screaming _in the middle of the night some nights because I've been having a nightmare about you being tortured. God, I don't care if I have to avada kedavra someone next time. If anyone else is ever given the opportunity to hurt you, I swear I'll do anything to stop it. I'd rather it be me... and I'm sure it wouldn't have the same effect on you as it does me, anyways."_

_He laughs bitterly while I become confused by this statement. Ron, however, clarifies. _

"_It wouldn't have the same effect because you obviously don't feel about me the way I do about you. I mean... why would you? What do I have that you would...? No, merlin, I have to stop this. You'll never love me like I lo-"_

_"Ron?" Fleur says, slowly opening the door. "Harry's about to bury Dobby."_

_"Could... could he wait?" Ron asks. "Hermione will want to be there. On second thought, maybe it'll be better if she isn't. I won't be able to bear the look on her-"_

_"Ron." I murmur sleepily, because it's the only thing I can think of to say, and because I really do want to be at the burial. _

"_I'll get her dressed," Fleur says. And she does just that, letting me borrow her nightgown, brushing my hair out, and finishing the washing of my blood-covered body. Finally, she asks me if I want to take a blanket out with me. I nod my yes, and painfully pounce on the brown-red one that I'd had in a ball. Fleur does not question my enthusiasm, but helps me wrap it securely around my body. I think that it is perfect until Ron puts his arm around me as I join the group around Dobby's grave. That's when I realize the blanket's one and only flaw: While it's warm, soft, and smells like Ron, it isn't the real Ron. And real Ron is always better. _

The little boy starts to cry again, and I shift him back and forth in my arms in a calming motion that I usually find effective. This one is no different. His cries quiet nearly immediately, and I smirk, knowing now how simple this is. My memory flashes back to the first time we had Rose, when Ron was so nervous he could barely hold her without shaking. What with all the reading I'd done on motherhood, I was the calm one, and Ron was the one going crazy. It had been opposite during the actual pregnancy. I'd wake up many times a night flipping out over the tiniest little details, and Ron would point out calmly that the baby wasn't born yet. He didn't even freak out when I went into labor. Just sort of took charge, got me to St. Mungo's, and got Rose the hell out of me. Once he saw her... that was when the fear began. Ron's hands have always been big, and to put something so tiny and innocent in them border lined, in his opinion, on homicidal.

"I can't find the blanket," Ron says suddenly, his head peaking through the door frame. "Do you-?"

"Yes, Ron. It is neatly folded on the coffee table, where I told you it would be before we left for the hospital." I tell him tiredly.

"Right. Sorry! I just... erm... heat of the moment and everything." Ron says, before quickly backing out of the room. I think he can tell I'm too tired to play nice. In the mean time, I look down at the boy in front of me, bouncing him subtly up and down in my arms.

"He's always been clueless," I sigh to the baby, and I think I see a bit of a smile light up on his face. "Every day of his life. I used to think when we finally got together, it would have gone away, but it really didn't. Maybe that's why I love him, though."

The baby stares unblinkingly up at me, and I love how full yet innocent his eyes are. I feel like the eyes are the part of a person that go through the most changes in a lifetime. Eyes are really the only part of your body that naturally betrays how you are feeling. You can rearrange facial expressions, but eyes rarely lie.

"Okay, so after the heartbreak, and the torture, there was our reconciliation," I tell the boy quietly. "That's where I used the blanket next."

_I'm tired. Every bone in my body aches, and all I can think about is sleeping for three hundred years. It's hard to believe that this war is finally over. I keep on worrying that, at any second, a death eater is going to run into the castle again seeking revenge, or we're going to figure out that we forgot to destroy one of Voldemort's horcruxes. Just the word makes me shiver with anger and fear, and whenever I think it I find myself trying to move closer to someone or something that is human and warm and not Voldemort. Unfortunately, right now, I am nowhere near another living soul, and while the portraits are very nice, it isn't the same. That said, I start walking faster on my way to the Gryffindor tower in hopes that one of my old dorm mates will be there and want to give me a hug, then totally and completely leave me alone. That's what I need. A hug, then sleep. And as long as it's not Lavender Brown, anyone can give me that hug. Really. Anyone._

_Oh, but of course. I have to be mature about these things. Ron dated Lavender, yes. That doesn't mean I have to hate her, does it? It's been a year- goodness, a year?- since it all happened, and shouldn't one forgive and forget? Still, I think it would be easier to forgive if I _could_ forget, and, unfortunately, the image of those entwined together like eels is still branded into my mind. I wonder how I could possibly forget it when it made me so angry, so frustrated. So unhappy. I wonder if I'll still be jealous of those two in five years, ten years, twenty years- if I'll even be with Ron at that time in my life. Who knows. Maybe Ron will decide he doesn't want to date me. Or maybe we'll try it and find that we don't work. It could happen. It could happen to anyone. And there are plenty of reasons why we really shouldn't work out, why we shouldn't pull through._

_It's funny. This morning, when I woke up, I wasn't thinking to myself 'maybe this will be the day I have my first kiss with Ron Weasley'. No, I was thinking, 'oh my god, I'm about to walk into Diagon Alley as Bellatrix Lestrange. This is so weird!' _

_What's weirder? The fact that I kissed Ron only a few hours ago, or the fact that, before that, I was Bellatrix Lestrange? Definitely the kissing thing. I'd sort of started to think that I was going to die before knowing what Ron's lips tasted like. Fortunately, now I know. Unfortunately, that might be the one and only time I ever snog him. I know that a conversation is inevitable. And I know that I'm about to be either rejected or... well, lets not think about the good part. I don't want to get my hopes up. The thing is, before now, Ron and I had nothing pushing us to talk about any feelings we might have for each other. Now, however, we have the memory of that kiss urging us on. And, my god, if Ron and I don't have that conversation soon, I'm going to explode. It might hurt me to know how he really feels, but won't it feel amazing if he actually wants me the way I want him? _

_Yeah. That's likely. He'll probably say, '_Thanks, but no thanks. Didn't you see me with Lavender?Come now, Hermione. Wouldn't I have gone out with you instead of her if I'd been interested?_' I sigh to myself as I reach the portrait and say,_

_"Can I come in?" _

_The Fat Lady, looking very drunk, mind you, beams at me._

_"Of course you can! Vi and I are quite proud of you, m'dear. We remember all the times you hung around to talk to us during your prefect duty, and we both agree that there's no one more deserving of eternal glory."_

_I blush._

_"I didn't do anything. It was all Harry." I tell her seriously. _

"_Hog wash. Oh, and we heard about that kiss!"_

_Redder yet, I nod and say,_

"_Okay, open now, please!" _

_The Fat Lady urges to comply. I head quickly into the common room that is so familiar, soaking in the image of the tower that has barely been damaged. There's a broken window, and some of the couches are ripped, but other then that it's just as good as new. I know for a fact that the Ravenclaw common room got completely trashed, but the Hufflepuff and Slytherin ones are totally fine. I'm grateful Gryffindor is in the middle of both those figures. It means we definitely made our contribution, but the damages aren't unrepairable. Feeling happy about this, I walk to the girls' dorm at a leisurely pace, trying to savor what this room looks like completely empty. Ron is downstairs with his family. Harry went to bed long ago. It's just me, standing here, looking at the scarlet and gold that I am infinitely proud of. Finally, I head up the stairs and turn the knob of the door that leads to the room I've always slept in. There it is. My bed. It seems as though Lavender and Parvati have been using it to store their extra clothes and make up, so I place their things on their beds before climbing into my own. Other than the latter thing, it hasn't been touched since the last time I left it. Clean, perfectly made, and comfortable. It smells of the perfume Ginny helped Ron pick out for me in fifth year. Because of her, I actually like the scent. When I told Ron it was interesting, it was because I was so surprised he would be able to pick out something so good. It figures Ginny was the one to do it, really. _

_Before going to bed, I lay the blanket down on it, Ron's blanket, and curl up with it. Miraculously enough, it still smells like him. And then- long at last- I'm sleeping. The sleep washes over me, and I'm so tired I don't even have any dreams. I'm lying in bed, comfortable and warm, when I hear my name being hissed. I bolt up in bed, my expression wild. The whisper is low in both octave and volume, and since I know no boy students can get up here, my mind immediately jumps to a death eater coming to kill me for being a third of the golden trio. Fortunately, the sight of red hair immediately stops me from pulling out my wand to curse someone's fingers off. _

_"Ron?" I say stupidly. He nods, looking guilty. Only now am I aware of the piercing whistle that is spilling through the air, and how out of breath Ron seems. "What did you do?"_

_"I needed to talk to you." he tells me simply, and I swallow. _

"_Elaborate, please. How did you manage to get up here?"_

_"Well, after I set the alarm off, very stupidly, I realized I'd need another way to get up here. So I stole someone's broom and flew up. The wailing will stop in a bit, I guess."_

_I nod numbly._

"_Anyway... I really need to talk to you."_

"_Oh. Okay. What's up?"_

_Now he begins to look nervous. He glances around the girls' dorm first, and I want to point out the fact that it looks exactly the same as the boys', bar a few more feminine changes my dorm mates have added over the years. And also the girly smell that changes every week depending on what perfume Lavender wants to charm the room to smell like. She says each scent marks her mood and where she is in her life, but I don't see it. What I do see is a major waste on money on several nice perfumes when she could have just gotten one she really liked and bought more... make up, or whatever. _

"_Is there anything- er- you need to talk to me about?" Ron asks, sitting on my bed and staring into my eyes. They narrow immediately. He's trying to get me to bring up the kiss. Well, I'm not going to do that. I was the one stupid enough to kiss him, now he has to be the one stupid enough to start a conversation about it. End of story._

_"No, not really, Ron," I say nonchalantly. "Anything you need to discuss with me?"_

_"No!" Ron says hurriedly. "I mean... well... I just thought... are you sure?"_

_"Oh, yes, quite sure," I tell him, smiling calmly. "Are _you?" 

"_No," Ron says, looking more confused then ever. "I need to talk to you about the..."_

_His eyes go from mine down to my lips, and I automatically wet them, knowing that they must be dry and cracked from all the heat of random fires that erupted during the battle. _

"_The... the.." I clear my throat, and Ron seems to come to his senses. "Kiss."_

_"Right," I say. "The kiss."_

_We sit there awkwardly for a few solid minutes, neither of us knowing what to say. I'm inwardly urging Ron to fight through the weirdness and get the conversation over with, because I know deep inside that he lacks the confidence to do so. Luckily, Ron always tends to surprise me. And he does that now._

"_Hermione, I've... I've wanted to do that for a really, really long time." I believe my reaction could be titled as 'stunned euphoria'. I stare at Ron with a blank expression, and he begins to panic at my lack of response. "Say something?" he pleads._

"_Of course," I say, shaking my head. "Right. Er- how long?"_

_Ron doesn't look like this question relieves him much. Instead, he looks more uncomfortable then ever._

_"Since fourth year." he says to my duvet. _

_"Figures," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Viktor Krum makes you want to snog me." Ron glares guiltily at the same spot, refusing to meet my eyes. "Well, I'm disappointed by that number."_

_"Er- why?" Ron asks._

_Figuring that I should finish torturing him, I say,_

_"Because I've wanted to kiss you since second year, and that's two years longer."_

_He looks at me, a beam stretching across his face._

_"Sorry. I got held up big some pigheaded teenager."_

_"You or me?" I laugh._

_Ron's face is suddenly very close to mine._

"_Both." he whispers, before his lips land on mine and I close my eyes and succumb to what can only be called pure, blissful, Ron-induced happiness. The kind of happiness I would repeatedly experience for the rest of my life. _


	3. Chapter 3

"So you see," I say to the baby I'm rocking back and forth, "The blanket was there when we got together. We never broke up after that. I went back to Hogwarts, and Ron moved to Hogsmeade. Since I was nineteen, McGonagall let me visit him whenever I wanted to. It was the perfect setup for the start of our relationship. I know that now. And one year later, after I'd finished Hogwarts, we moved in together, to this little apartment in Hogsmeade. Four years after that, we finally became serious. Not that we weren't before, but we started talking about things like marriage and kids. Of course, it was Ron, so I didn't expect him to commit anytime soon. Still, the thought was a nice daydream. So we set out to build our dream home. Thus this house was made. What do you think? Do you like it?"

If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine the baby looking around, trying to decide if he likes his new house or not. I hope he appreciates it as much as his mother does.

"I had the blanket the whole time. What do you think of that, little boy? I never lost it, and it always smelled like Ron. He'd go on auror missions, and I'd miss him dreadfully, be worried sick... then I'd take out that blanket and feel so much better. And one of those times was... well... one of the best things that ever happened to me." 

_Ever since moving into the house, my favorite part of the day has been coming home. I love placing my hand on the doorknob and knowing that Ron and I are the only ones to ever own it. That this house is our place to be together, and to experience life as a couple. I feel so grown up whenever I walk over the threshold, knowing that I own this house. That my name is on the deed for it. That I'm earning the right to live here with the man I love by making an income. And, of course, it's also a wonderful place to be when Ron is away on one of his missions. Like now, actually. He's been away for a week, and the only thing that's been getting me through is the blanket. That blanket, along with the many photographs that line my home, remind me that he is real, strong, and will always come home to me, because he promises that he will every time. And Ron never lies. He wouldn't promise if there was a doubt. _

_I'm so tired. Of course, whenever Ron is away I always work late, so I bring it upon myself. The truth is, without having a Ron to go home to, it's hardly worth going home at all. The house always seems empty without him, minus the aforementioned pictures, which I always pay extra-special attention to when Ron isn't home. I love the photos that enable me to remember, but when the man I love is actually with me, I don't bother with them. I'm more focused on making new memories with him, and that's just fine with Ron. But since he's on a mission, and has been for a week, no memories will be made. Instead, I'm going to take a long, hot bath. I've been planning it all day- to the extent that I decided to go home at six, which is quite early for me when Ron isn't home. I'm going to eat dinner and take the bath that I have been dreaming about for a long time. When Ron is your boyfriend and house mate, you don't exactly have a lot of time to take baths. There's always something else, something better or different or necessary. But not tonight._

_I head through the doorway and into the hall, where I step carefully out of my shoes, lying them on the designated mat near the door. And that's when I smell it. The unmistakable smell of macaroni and cheese. A smile grows on my face, and I abandon my coat in the middle of the floor as I run into the kitchen. _

"_You're back!" I squeal, and the red haired man at the stove looks up._

"_Yep. Hence the macaroni."_

_Ron and I have a tradition that whenever he comes back from a mission we have mac and cheese with wine. If his mission goes particularly well, we also bake cookies. But I don't dwell on the cookies or the macaroni. Instead, I raise an eyebrow and say,_

"_Hence? Really?"_

_He grins at me._

_"You've rubbed off on me."_

_"And yet you still find it impossible to hang your towel up or get your boxers off the floor."_

_"Mmmm. Well, baby steps, love."_

_I roll my eyes, and his grin widens. Unable to resist, I catapult myself across the room and launch myself into his arms. He catches me easily, and I twist my legs around his waist and kiss him as hard as I can. Ron's back is against the sharp corner of the counter, but, true to form, he doesn't seem to care. Classic Ron, really. He doesn't care where we snog as long as we're snogging. It can lead to some spontaneous snogging in the most random of places, and he always keeps me on my toes. You can never read it by mood, with Ron. All I know is that he always gets the same look on his face when he's about to kiss me, so I'm never unprepared._

"_I missed you," I breath against him. "Don't ever leave for a week again."_

_He sighs and mutters,_

_"If this is the greeting I'll always get after being gone so long, I might just do it more often."_

_I look at those beautiful blue eyes, then kiss him again, trailing my hand up his chest, neck, and cheek until it finds his hair._

_"If you do that, the same thing you'll be going away for is also what you'll be missing."_

_"True enough," Ron says huskily. We snog until we decide that we're hungry, and then I hop down from the counter where Ron has long since placed me, fix my shirt, and tell Ron that I'll finish making dinner. He agrees, so I head to our room to change into a pair dark wash skinny jeans and a dark red v-neck sweater. After placing my hair into a high ponytail, I pad back out to the kitchen and stir the pasta, half paying attention to the pot, half talking to Ron._

"_So how did the mission go?"_

"_Well, let's just say that we should right about now be picking out our cookie flavor."_

_"Congratulations!" I say happily. "And... oatmeal raisin." _

"_I love you," Ron says in reply, gazing at me admiringly._

"_Ditto," I laugh. "Why, though?"_

_"You do you love me?"_

_"No, Ron," I say sternly. _

_"Why do I love you?"_

_"Still no. Although now that we're-"_

_"Oh, shut up."_

_I chuckle._

"_I meant why did you just randomly tell me you loved me?"_

_"Oatmeal raisin."_

_"You've got to elaborate, a little. I may be the brightest witch of my age, but goodness knows I can't read minds."_

_"Should have stayed in divination."_

_"Honestly, Ron-"_

_"The reason I spontaneously said that I loved you was because that's the flavor I want."_

_"Wow. How in sync are we?"_

_"Well, we can't agree on anything else, but we're always craving the same cookie flavor."_

_"It's what really matters in life," I declare sarcastically._

_We talk steadily through our dinner, then manage to make our cookies with only a few minor accidents, most of them involving flour suddenly colliding with some part of my body and a sheepish expression from Ron. We eat the cookies lying on the couch, my head on Ron's chest, our hands entwined. We attempt to watch a movie, but the urge to talk more is too much, and with a flick of my wand, Ron quickly turns off the muggle television we keep in our home. It's something that drives me crazy. Not the television, although sometimes that can be a bit annoying. It's the fact that I always have my wand, but Ron is constantly forgetting to carry his around. So, instead of getting his wand, Ron usually just borrows mine. Wands generally work very well with someone's significant other, so Ron can use my wand pretty much as well as I can. Which is unfortunate, because I hate it when he does it. I tried putting it in different places, like stuffing it down my bra, but that only encouraged him. It's something that has long ago become endearing to me, something I've come to only roll my eyes at instead of initiating a screaming match. I've learned to live with Ron's faults. Well, it was bound to happen soon enough. _

_We talk until ten, when I inform Ron of the fact that I've never been more exhausted in my life. We head to our bedroom, purposely bumping into each other on the way up the stairs, trying not to smirk or giggle. As we do every night that we are both home, we brush our teeth together and change into our pajamas. By the time I've finished brushing my hair out and have put on my long plaid bottoms and white camisole, Ron's already in bed. And he has that look on his face, the one that lets me know he either wants to make love or talk literally until it's time to go to work. Seeing as I am too tired for either of them, I eye him warily, and he quickly rearranges his features._

"_I'll be good," Ron informs me, and, not altogether reassured, I climb into bed next to him. No surprise, a few minutes later Ron starts kissing my shoulder. I bat his hand away._

"_C'mon, Ron. Tomorrow's Saturday. We can do whatever you want when I'm well rested."_

_"Right. Forgot." Ron says. "I just really missed you."_

_"Of course. I missed you, too," I yawn. "Goodnight."_

_But, of course, a few minutes later, Ron starts talking._

_"I stopped over at Mum's, and she was freaking out about Ginny's new haircut."_

_Resigning myself to the fact that I am not going to get any sleep, I open my eyes and look at Ron._

_"It's very pretty. Harry's a little disappointed at how short it got, but what can you do. It's still below her shoulders."_

_"I knew they shouldn't have gotten married so early," Ron says fervently._

_I raise my eyebrows._

_"What the hell does Harry not loving Ginny's haircut have to do with them getting married too young?"_

_"Well, now he's having regrets."_

_"No he's not. It's hair, Ron. It grows right back, I promise you."_

_"Well, I know yours does," Ron says, tugging a piece fondly. I sigh._

"_Just because he isn't fond of her haircut, doesn't mean he doesn't love her, Ron. Would you still love me if I chopped all my hair off?"_

_Ron looks extremely conflicted._

"_Well, how much of it would you kill?"_

_I bolt upright._

_"What?" I yell, my tone alerting Ron to danger immediately._

"_No... joke... kidding... I love you," he finishes weakly. I lie back down, and lecture him for a few minutes, but the lecture very soon turns into a casual conversation. Ron's always good at doing that to me. It's only around three that I accidentally fall asleep while Ron energetically recounts a finer point of the last Quidditch game Ginny played in. I've been asleep for nearly an hour when I hear Ron's voice again. "Hermione?"_

_"Mmmph," I respond, so deep in sleep I couldn't be bothered if Ron told me Merlin himself was outside our bedroom window. _

"_You wanna marry me?"_

_I nod sleepily._

_"Sure. You know that. I've told you before."_

_"Oh. Cool," Ron says, and I hear him breathe a sigh of relief and lie back down on his pillow. Five minutes pass, and I've already fallen back asleep when Ron's voice says my name again._

"_What?" I bark, starting to get seriously annoyed now._

"_I think you misinterpreted my question." _

_I peak an eye open. That can't possibly mean what I think it does. Because if it does, that would mean..._

_"What?"_

_"I meant... will you marry me. In the immediate future. Like, less then a year. Will you be my wife. All that good stuff."_

_My other eye opens, wide and shocked. The next thing I know, I've rolled out of bed, grabbed my pillow, and slammed it down on Ron's head._

"_You-complete-ARSE!" I yell. "Of course I'll marry you, but _honestl_y! You call_ that _a proposal?"_

_Ron smiles sheepishly._

_"Sorry. I couldn't wait."_

_"No, really?" I say sarcastically. "Do you even have a ring?"_

_Ron's expression brightens._

"_Yeah!" he says. "I bought it like three years ago."_

_I let out an annoyed huff. _

"_We could have been married three years ago? What the hell happened?"_

_"Way to be ungrateful."_

_"YOU PROPOSED TO ME AT FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING! WHAT WERE YOU BLOODY EXPECTING?"_

"_Wanna go back to sleep, honey?"_

_"Yes. No! Can I have the ring?"_

_Ron nods, smiling to himself, and reaches into his bedside table to get it. He opens the box and quickly slips it onto my finger. _

"_Oh," I say, looking at it. _

"_Oh?" Ron replies, frowning. "Was that another fail?"_

_I glance up at him, my eyes shining._

_"No. Oh, it's perfect, Ron! I love it. Thank you."_

_I yawn suddenly, and Ron kisses me before saying,_

_"Do you want to go to sleep now? We can talk more in the morning."_

_I nod._

" _Okay. I love you. See you in the morning."_

_"I love you, too." _

Laughing to myself at the memory, I lay the baby in his crib, unwrap his blanket, and tickle his stomach. He giggles right along with me, and I stare at him with a smile on my face until I remember. Then I sigh.

"What is mummy going to want to name you?" I ask him. "We can't keep referring to you as the baby... it's actually getting sort of annoying."

"Well, she's had nine months to think about it," Ron says, walking into the room. He's triumphantly brandishing the blanket, and I kiss him thank you before I take it and swaddle it around the boy. Ron leans over and takes him from me, gazing down at him adoringly. "It's been a while since we've had someone as small as you in our family."

"Well, actually-"

"Immediate family, Hermione. Immediate."

I shut my mouth. Somehow, Ron knows exactly what I was about to say. He always seems to.

"I wasn't going to say that!" I say quickly, because he starts looking smug. "I was going to tell you that I'm hungry. Make me something to eat?"

"I don't get the way this kitchen is set up. I can't find anything!"

"Figure it out, Ron," I groan. "Trial and error, yeah?"

"Fine," he says, and he slowly tromps out of the room.

"There we go. I just wanted to get him out of the room so I could work on the story. Now, after the proposal, there was a wedding. But the next time I used Ron's blanket was the Honeymoon.

_I'm married. I, Hermione Jean Granger, am no longer a Granger. I'm not Hermione Granger. I'm Hermione Jean Weasley. Hermione Weasley. Mrs. Weasley. Bloody hell. I have the same name as Ron's mum. I have the same name as the best cook in the world. How will I ever live up to that? I can't cook! Mrs. Weas- no, _Molly_- promised that she'd help me out, but I don't want to intrude. Then again, I won't really be intruding. I'm family now. I'm a Weasley. Oh, dear merlin. I just married Ron. What have I done? I'm married to Ron! I'm married to the little boy who had dirt on his nose. I'm married to the boy who's homework I did for six years. I'm married to the boy who burped up slugs. I'm married to the boy who had a huge row with me just because he thought my cat ate his rat. I'm married to the boy who was obnoxiously jealous of me and Viktor Krum, the boy who I constantly bickered with all my life. I'm married to the guy who broke my heart into fifty billion pieces with the help of Lavender Brown. On the bright side, I'm married to the only man I've ever been in love with. On the downside... well, is there one? _

_Mr. and Mrs. Ron and Hermione Weasley. God, I feel old. I look at all the young people, milling about below our honeymoon suit in Greece. I'm wondering what I must look like to them when one of the French doors to the balcony opens, and Ron's flaming red head emerges, clashing brilliantly with the sunset. At the sight of his blue eyes, I suddenly remember why I married him, and the nervous, frightened feeling quickly vanishes from my stomach._

"_Hey," he says, his eyes sweeping over the view we have. "What's wrong?"_

_"How-?"_

_"_Seriously_, Hermione?" _

_"Okay, yeah, yeah, yeah. You can read my facial expressions. But that was fast!" _

"_What's wrong?" Ron repeats._

_I smile at him._

"_Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just a bit... nervous."_

_Ron snorts and walks fully onto the balcony, leaving the door open as he settles in next to me. I peer in and smile as I see the array of rose petals around the room. It's gorgeously cliché. I love it._

"_About what?"_

_I consider this. Then I say,_

_"I'm married now."_

_"I know. Me too," Ron shoots me a side glance and gives me a lopsided grin. "Cool, huh?"_

_"Yeah," I say, breaking out into a beam. "Yeah, it is pretty cool."_

_Ron walks behind me and hugs me, rocking us back and forth as we stare out at the place neither of us have ever been. _

"_Shame we won't really be doing much sight seeing." Ron says._

_"Why not?" I ask, surprised. Ron looks exasperated._

"_Hermione, it's our bloody honeymoon."_

_"Does that mean we can never leave the hotel room the whole time?"_

_"Basically, yes."_

_"Ron, you're going to get sick of ravishing me soon enough. And it is at that point where I will bring out my vacation book, and we can go to the temple of Athena, and-"_

_"Mmmm. There's a bit of a flaw in the plan."_

_I raise an eyebrow, sincerely doubting that there could possibly be a flaw in _my_ plan._

"_And what is that?"_

_"I'm not going to get sick of- ehem- ravishing you, as you so aptly put it."_

_I bite my lip._

"_Well, I really want to go to-"_

_"Oh, dear god."_

_"Fine," I murmur, my eyes slipping shut as Ron leans into kiss me. We head back into the room, shutting the door behind us, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ron's blanket, neatly folded and always there in case of an emergency. I just couldn't bring myself not to pack it. "Say my name?" I ask tentatively._

"_Hermione." Ron says, his lips slipping down to my neck._

_"My full name." I correct. _

_Ron seems confused now. Great. I married an idiot. _

"_Hermione...Jean...Granger?"_

_"Wrong again." I sigh, pulling back. "Ron, what's my name?"_

"_Hermione!" he says in answer._

"_Ron!" I snap, frustrated._

_"Have I accidentally married Lavender?"_

_I'm silent, glaring at him with my arms crossed. He suddenly gets it._

"_Oh!" he leans over to kiss me again, and I allow him to as soon as I've finished rolling my eyes. "Hermione." Ron says softly. "Hermione _Weasley."

"Hermione?"

I turn around.

"Back so soon? Where's my food?"

"You didn't tell me what you wanted."

"Oh." I say guiltily. "Um... grilled cheese and tomato soup."

"That's going to take forever!"

"No it won't. Besides, I'm with the baby."

"I can hang out with the baby!"

"Please?"

"Hmph. Fine."

"Don't forget to do that butter thing I love!" I call after. No answer. "I love you!" I shout down the hall, and I think I hear Ron laugh before he finds himself back in the kitchen.

"Okay, little boy. This part of the story is called fight."


	4. Chapter 4

_A door slams, and I watch it shut, tears slipping down my cheeks. Good job, Ron. You've made me cry again. I don't even know what just happened. As I stumble back into my bedroom, I try to understand how the whole thing started. A glance at the clock tells me it's four in the morning, and that's the first thing I process. Four in the morning. Ron came home at three. We've been fighting for an hour. Yes, I remember now. He went out with some of his mates from work, and didn't tell me that he was going. I waited up all night, worried sick that something had gone wrong with his auror mission, my dinner becoming steadily colder, until I had to admit that he wasn't coming home anytime soon. Unable to work up an appetite, I put it back in the fridge. _

_Hours later, he'd stumbled in, a bright smile on his face, but I was too angry and worried to let it go. I asked him where he'd been. He'd told me it was none of my business, to which I had reminded him that I was his wife, and it was every bit of my business where he went after work. And then we'd fought. It was three in the morning. Ron was standing in the doorway, snow falling behind him. I was in my pajamas, my hair disheveled, my arms crossed over my over sized Hogwarts tee-shirt._

_And then, the fatal mistake. Ron yelled at me, asking once again why it really mattered that he was out until three in the morning. And so I shouted the only thing I could think to say, both because it was true, and because I didn't know how else to explain my actions. After all, how could he have known that I had exciting news to tell? How could Ron possibly have known that I'd put on an especially pretty dress for him, made his favorite dinner, and lit candles. If I'd told him ahead of time, I know for a fact he would have been here. But I hadn't told him, and as a consequence, he hadn't known. He asked again, after that. _

"_Why, Hermione? Why tonight, when this isn't even the first time I've done this! Is it because we're married now? Is it because I'm unusually late?"_

_Well, it was really both those things. But also..._

_"Because I'm pregnant!"  
><em>

_He stared at me a few seconds, his terrified eyes flitting from my tearful eyes to my stomach, his face paper white. Poor Ron Weasley. He'd destroyed a bloodthirsty horcrux. He'd fought in the final battle. And yet, he couldn't possibly handle this. He'd backed out of the house, and I'd rushed into my room, trying to figure out what had just happened, why the door had just slammed, when the news I've just released is so obviously good. Slowly, my fingers find the bed, and I sit down and curl up into a ball, wondering somewhere, in the back of my mind, how long I'm going to be able to do that for. _

_Does this mean he's scared? That he doesn't want the baby? We weren't exactly trying for one. We've only been married eight months. And yet, this isn't something I don't want. I need a child, I'm excited to have a life growing inside of me. While I'm fully aware of the fact that it's going to be hell, I also know that the girl or boy that comes out of me will be mine and Ron's. But we've also just accidentally committed to taking care of someone for seventeen years. Granted, the baby will probably go to Hogwarts, so we'll only have to deal with him or her full time for roughly eleven. Still, it's a huge commitment, one that me and Ron have never really spoken of as if it's in the immediate future. And I have a feeling that dropping the bomb on him in the context it was- well, dropped- wasn't the best idea. Hindsight is 20/20. _

_The front door to the house suddenly slams, and I break into an array of fresh sobs. I know Ron will come around soon enough, but right now my mind is clouded by our fight, and I literally can't think straight. I want to call my mum or floo Ginny, but I can't think any coherent thought that might explain to them how I'm feeling right now. Besides, if I tell them I'm pregnant, their first question will be 'Does Ron know?' and 'How does he feel about it?', which I unfortunately don't know the answer to. An hour later, however, I still miss him, and still don't know what to do, so I do the only thing I can think of. I reach into the little chest at the foot of Ron and my bed, shift through the blankets until I find a fluffy brown one, then drape it over myself. Immediately, at the familiar scent, I start to calm down, and begin to drift off to sleep. It's five in the morning, and I know I'll have to go to work in an hour. But I really don't want to. So I get up and do something I've never done before. I write in to my boss and tell him that I'm not feeling well. It's quite true. I'll be back tomorrow, but I can't help feeling guilty. I don't recall ever taking a day off school, much less work. Ron tells me I'm like a robot, but it's not true. I, unlike some people, take excellent care of myself. I also take excellent care of him whenever he's sick. That's why I'm pretty sure I'll take good care of a baby. That's why I'm not scared._

_It's around seven AM when the sound of someone moving around the room wakes me up. I peak my eyes open and see Ron getting dressed to go to work. Not sure whether or not I should speak, I simply watch him, but he turns around and sees me looking at him, anyways. Immediately, he looks guilty._

"_Sorry to wake you, sweetheart." _

"_It's okay," I yawn. "I took the day off."_

_He looks amused._

_"For the first time? Really?"_

_I nod._

"_I see pregnancy is already changing you."_

_My eyes flit towards the ceiling on their own accord, and Ron laughs at the familiar gesture._

_"Well, I have the day off, too."_

_"Um- why?"_

_"Because I went into work and found out that you weren't coming in. I immediately grabbed a puking pastel from my pocket, claimed that I had what you did, and left."_

"_There are so many things that are wrong with that sentence."_

_Now that I can look at him without being worried that he's going to get mad, I see that he isn't putting on his clothes, but pulling them off. Since it's cold, he inquires after the whereabouts of his pajama bottoms, and I wait until he has them on and has crawled into bed before I start my list. _

"_First of all, Ron, in order for you to have my 'thing', you'd have to be pregnant."_

_"I'm definitely not pregnant," Ron agrees._

_"Second-"_

_"Out of how many?"_

_"Three. Anyways, you really shouldn't have lied to your boss."_

_"Actually, I didn't. I lied to Harry, who told my boss that I was gone. He didn't bother to check. He knows that you'd never skip work for no good reason." _

_I try not to think of the simple brilliance of this idea as I counter with,_

"_That's exactly what I'm doing right now."_

_"I know. It's so bloody sexy."_

_"Mmm. Yes. Hermione Weasley, lying here in her baggy shirt and sweatpants, the epitome of everything sexy."_

_"Nice last name," Ron comments, because, in spite of the fact that it's been more than half of a year, neither of us are quite used to it yet. "And yes, I think you are the epitome of everything sexy. The female one, anyway. I'm obviously the male version of a sex god."_

_I nod._

_"Oh, I agree."  
><em>

_Ron leans over to kiss me before saying,_

"_What was number three?"_

_I blink at him, forgetting what we were previously talking about, as Ron's kisses often make me do._

"_Oh, right. Three was... you carry puking pastels in your pocket?"_

_"I stayed at George's shop last night. He has a dartboard in the back, you know. I just stayed up all night playing with it and all his other cool toys that made loud noises. It was therapeutic." _

"_So, how do you feel?"_

_"Kind of tired. I mean, I didn't really sleep."_

_"Not what I was saying, but, now that you mention it, I could use some sleep of my own."_

"_Oh. What were you saying, then?"_

_I bite my lip at the daftness of my husband, and my eyes search his earnest face, his hand placed over mine, and his flaming red hair looking like fire in the light of the open window. Unable to resist, I reach up a hand to stroke his hair before saying what I need to say._

_"Ron, how do you feel about me being pregnant?"_

_He stares at me like I'm crazy._

"_Well... what do you think? It's brilliant, isn't it? I mean, we're having a bloody baby!"_

_We're having a bloody baby... I realize with a smile that this is exactly something Ron would say, exactly the way he would handle a situation like this. He's never known anything more then parents who have been thrilled to have child after child. Why shouldn't he be the same? I lean over and kiss him._

_"I'm so glad."_

_He kisses me back hungrily, before sighing and pulling back._

_"Can we go to sleep now?"_

_Neither of us have energy to do anything but, so we fall asleep cuddling, happy to have a day home from work together, which we never do. Even if having simultaneous days off means our cold feet keep on bumping each other under the covers, it's worth it. Ron doesn't know it, but while he sleeps it's like he's renewing the scent of my brown blanket, making the fading smell stronger and better. Eight months later, when we wrap Rose in the blanket on the first night of her life, I whisper to her that the blanket is special. I whisper to her that it's the reason I kept myself together when her father was gone. I whisper that this blanket might be the reason Ron and I are together. Rose seems much more comfortable in it after that._

"Got your sandwich," Ron says, walking into the room. I smile broadly at him and kiss him on the lips.

"You are absolutely amazing. Have I ever told you what a great husband you are?"

"Mmmm. Maybe once or twice."

"Good," I say.

"It wouldn't hurt to say it again," Ron hints, and I laugh.

"You are an amazing husband." I take a bite of my grilled cheese. "And you make a kick-ass grilled cheese sandwich."

"Hermione!" Ron admonishes sarcastically. "Don't swear in front of the baby."

"Sorry. It's just been forever."

There's the sound of someone apparating outside of the house, and I exchange glances with Ron.

"Rose must be here," I say quietly.

"I'll go help her," Ron says, and he leaves me and the baby alone once more.

"Ready for the last branch of the story?" I ask. The baby doesn't move, so I take that to mean the idea doesn't completely horrify him. "Right, then. Okay. So, this leg is... let's see... It started with a tent, then there was heartbreak, after that a reconciliation, then a proposal, then a honeymoon, and after that a fight, and now there's... loss."


	5. Chapter 5

_Frantically searching through the old dresser at the foot of the bed, I feel tears start to spring into my eyes. I don't understand what's going on, exactly, but I think, I _think_, I just lost something. And I think that something is the thing that kept my alive when I felt like dying, and the thing that I swaddled my daughter in the first night she was born. And that thing is Ron's blanket, and it is the most foolish thing in the world to loose. It means way too much to me to ever enable me to let it go, and this thought only makes my search for it more frantic. I'm not sure when it started. I know that I told Rose she couldn't bring her Babbity Rabbitty blanket to the park, but that she could bring another one. Maybe... but, no. Rose never goes into the trunk under my bed. She's two... wouldn't she know not to touch things I don't want her to touch? And if she's touched this... oh my goodness. There's going to be hell to pay. Of course, I can't bring hell down upon my daughter. This poses a bit of dilemma, doesn't it? Who will pay if I loose the most precious thing in the world to me other than my family? That cheap little blanket was everything to me at one time. _

"_Rose!" I call, hurrying out of my bedroom and into hers. My daughter is seated inside of the playpen in her bedroom, her curly red locks springing out all over the place. In her hands are what look like muggle dolls, but even as I walk into the room, they begin to move, and I know that they are really magical ones. Oh, what I would have given to have what Rose has now when I was just a little girl. I know she doesn't appreciate her things enough, but she might someday. I mean, how could Rose know to appreciate the fact that she's growing up surrounded by magic, when her mum did not have that benefit? And why would she care, right now, that her father didn't have half the things she does now when he was growing up? Rose is rich in love that her mother never had, money that her father never had, and a sense of culture that neither fully had when they were growing up. Ron and I have worked hard to combine our upbringings to make the perfect child-raising program. Rose has been subjected to both Cinderella, which Ron learned long ago was not an illness, and The Tales of Beedle the Bard. _

"_Mama?"_

_Rose looks up from her dolls and gives me a toothless grin that nearly makes me fall apart all over again. Attempting to compose myself, I say,_

"_When mummy told you that you couldn't bring Blanky to the park, did you get another one?"_

_Rose nods solemnly._

_"Was it from the big dresser right below mummy and daddy's bed?"_

_Another nod._

_"Was it brown?"_

_Affirmative._

"_Did you get it home from the park?"_

_Rose considers this. Then she shakes her head. I feel my knees grow week. I curse, and Rose gleefully repeats the word, making me inwardly scream with both anger and sadness. This isn't real. This can't be real. This absolutely is not happening. I run down the stairs and throw floo powder into the fireplace, saying the name of Ron's workplace. He's at his desk, doing some sort of paperwork. I quickly say his name, and he looks up. The grin on his face vanishes when he sees the look on mine. _

"_What's wrong? Is Rose okay?"_

_"Rose is fine," I say, exhaling. "I need you to come babysit."_

_"Er- what?"_

_"Well, Ginny's at work, and so is Harry, and it's only me that's decided to be a stay at home mum, so therefor I need someone to come home and take care of Rose."_

_"Where are you going?" Ron asks, confused._

_"The park."_

_Ron's expression clears._

_"But Rose loves the park! Just take her!" _

_Ah, how simple things are in Ron's world. If only life was, in fact, that easy. _

_"I know. But I lost something, and I have to go back there and get it."_

_Ron blinks. _

_"What did you loose?"_

_"A blanket."_

_He shakes his head._

_"C'mon. We'll get a new blanket. It's fine."_

_"Ron, it's not just a blanket."_

_"It's... _the_ blanket?"_

_Ron doesn't fully understand the importance of the blanket, but he knows it's important to me and goes with it. You'd think he'd recognize it, but no. Apparently, Ron is either quite bad at noticing details, or he's trying to block out many images from the war. I'd wager it's a little bit of both. I nod._

"_How did that-?"_

_"Never mind that, I have to get it back!"_

_I begin to feel frantic again. I need that blanket. I don't know why, but it's as much of a symbol of my love for Ron and Ron's love for me as our wedding rings. I feel like I've just lost my wedding band. And seeing as I hate, hate, hate loosing things, it's about fifteen times worse than it is for normal, sane people. _

"_Bring her over to my mum's," Ron suggests._

_"Thank you! Perfect. Why didn't I think of that?" _

_Ron starts to answer, but I cut him off._

_"Bye! Love you! See you later! Wish me luck!" _

_Then, before he has time to say anything at all, I back out of the fireplace. The last thing I see before I go is Ron's expression, half amused, half exasperated. It's a look I recognize well from wearing it so often on my own face. I take Rose and floo over to my in-law's home, feeling a tightness in my throat and a nervousness in my stomach. _

"_Hello, Hermione!" Molly Weasley says, seeming pleasantly surprised to see me standing in her kitchen. I smile at her, my eyes flitting around as if the blanket might have somehow ended up here. _

"_Hi... um, can you take care of Rose for a bit?"_

_Her smile diminishes a bit at my lack of attention and the fact that I do not seem like I'm about to stay._

"_Of course, dear. Is something wrong?"_

_"No, nothing," I fib. "I just... need to find something, and I can't bring Rose all over the place while I search."_

_She nods. _

_"Best of luck to you!" she says, and I smile distractedly at her once more before turning on my heel and apparating out of the room. I come out at the park that Rosie and I were at earlier, and immediately start looking around. I can't use magic, so I spend the whole day looking around, muggle style. It's dark by the time I admit defeat. I've been everywhere, and I still haven't found it. It must be gone forever. Plopping myself onto the ground, I bite my lip to keep myself from crying. When it doesn't work, I let the tears flow. It's so stupid, and yet, at the same time, I feel as though this blanket does deserve a good cry. It's been everything to me since I was eighteen years old. Now, I'm married with a beautiful little girl, and it still means the same thing. My eyes flit across the lake, to the full moon which is being reflected onto its surface. And I'm still looking at that when I feel someone sit down next to me. I don't need to look to know that it is Ron. He remains silent, seated next to me, and we both just stare at the water for a while, until Ron drapes something around my shoulders. At first, I think it's his jacket, because it has the same scent, but when I reach up to touch the fabric, I realize that it is not, in fact, his jacket. It's the blanket. I look around at Ron, my eyes shocked. _

"_Where-?" I start, and Ron shakes his head, rolling his eyes simultaneously. _

_"It was at home the whole time."_

_My mouth slides open, my eyes widening. _

"_What the hell?"_

_Ron sighs._

"_Rose had it in her playpen. When I realized you weren't home, I went to make sure you'd dropped her off, and it was right there. Then I spent the better part of an hour trying to find you. Do you know how many bloody parks there are in the area?"_

_I stare blindly at the blanket, trying to clear my mind._

"_Wow," I whisper finally. Feeling quite randomly drained, I lean my head on Ron's shoulder, and he places his head on top of mine._

"_What is it about this blanket, Hermione?" Ron whispers sometime later._

"_You," I tell him quietly, and Ron's brow furrows even more._

"_I don't understand." _

_I'm not looking at him, but at this comment I feel I must. I smile endearingly at the look on his face, and lean over and kiss the spot on his nose that is illuminated by moonlight. _

_"I love you," is all I say, and for that moment it seems to be enough. Ron thinks about this for a while. It's a few minutes later when he whispers,_

"_Hermione, are you sure it's just emotion for the blanket? Are you sure you aren't... pregnant? I mean, weren't you overly emotional all the time while you were pregnant with Rose?"_

_My eyes widen in surprise. I hadn't thought of that. But he's right. I am overly emotional. Later on, I take a pregnancy test, and Ron is proved right. I really hate when that happens. I do not, however, hate the fact that I'm pregnant again. _

_Later on, as we curl up together in bed night, Ron's breath tickles my ear a few moments after the usual 'Goodnight, I love yous'. _

"_You know, you'll have to tell me why that blanket means so much to you."_

_I give him the promise of someday. Someday is always a beautiful thing. _

"What are you thinking about?"

Ron's voice startles me from my memory, and I look around at him.

"Oh. Just... _us."_

"Us?" Ron repeats blankly, and I nod.

"We've come so far. And sometimes it just surprises me, when there are so many times I've wanted to quit."

"We definitely beat the odds."

"Mum? Dad?" Rose emerges into the room, her flaming red hair swinging as she walks, rather like Ginny. "Hi. Thanks for taking care of him while we worked everything out at St. Mungo's."

"Not a problem," Ron says, and I nod.

"Our first grandchild! What, do you think we'd miss an opportunity to visit with him?" 

Rose looks tired.

"Well, seeing as I just gave birth, and you've been dealing with that all day, I'd say I might be pretty sick of Arthur already."

"That's true," I say, before the name registers. "Oh, Rosie! You decided on a name?"

"And the husband is okay with this?" Ron says, narrowing his eyes. Rose shrugs.

"Sure. All I had to do was give him doe eyes and play the I-was-just-in-labor-for-twenty-bloody-hours card."

I'm about to reprimand my daughter for swearing when I realize that she is twenty six and perfectly okay to swear. For goodness sake, she's a mum now!

"I played that, too," I mouth to her, and she laughs and looks over at her father.

"You weakling," she says teasingly. She sighs and looks around the nursery. "I can't believe I sleep and yours and dad's room now. It's a little _wrong_."

"Well, if you think about the fact that both you and Hugo were conceived there, then, yes, it's quite wrong," Ron says, wrinkling his nose. My brows knit together.

"Thanks, you two. I never would have thought about it that way until now."

Rose looks lovingly around the room.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't sell it. This place is amazing."

"Oh, we know," Ron says, and I laugh.

"We put a lot into it. If you hadn't wanted it, your father and I probably never would have moved out. That said, this huge place with just the two of us... not worth the cleaning."

Ron and Rose both roll their eyes.

"Please," Rose snorts, while Ron says,

"You love cleaning!"

"I beg to differ!" I announce, a scandalized look passing over my face. "I only _like_ it-" They burst out into laughter, and I continue on furiously "-but not in overly large and unnecessary quantities."

Hugo walks into the room, then halts, looking surprised to see Ron and Rose in fits of laughter.

"What's this all about?" he asks.

"You had to be there," I say sourly, and Hugo shrugs.

"Right, then. Rose, here's your baby carrier. For all I went through to haul it up the damn stairs, his middle name had better be Hugo."

Rose wrinkles her nose.

"No way, Hugh. I don't even _like_ the name Hugo," she shoots us an apologetic glance. "No offense."

"I think it's great." I say, glancing over at Ron. He determinedly avoids my eyes. "Ron? Don't you?"

"Er- not really."

Hugo and I both throw up our hands.

"Really, dad? You didn't even like it, and you let her name me this monstrosity?" Hugo growls.

"Ron, our son is twenty three years old, and only now does it come out that you hate his name?"

Ron looks caught between a rock and a hard place. He throws a terrified glance at Rose, but she holds up her hands.

"Don't look at me. I'm not the namer or the name-ee. I'm out of this one."

"Traitor," Ron mutters.

"Pot calling kettle black," Hugo shoots at him. I clap my hands together.

"Oh, for goodness sake! It's too late to change it now, you two. Stop acting like children. Besides, it's not even that big of a deal."

"Easy for you to say. Your name isn't Hugo."

"Love, my name is Hermione! No one even knows how to pronounce it when they read it! I have to give lessons to new trainees! With a _test. _Although that part's just fun."

Ron screws up his face and starts to mimic Viktor Krum. I elbow him in the gut. Oh, bugger. They've got me acting like a ten year old, too. It's time to get everything under control again, so I decide to do what I do best: give orders.

"Hugo, go home to your fiancée, for the love of god. She's been waiting up all night for you. As for you, Rose, as much as I'd love to be here and babysit, you need to get used to having a child. Just get as much sleep as you can and take care of Arthur."

Rose nods and hugs me, while Hugo hugs Ron. My heart swells with adoration for the two beautiful beings that I brought into the world with my husband. After I've hugged Rosie hard enough, we switch.

"By the way, Rose," Ron asks as he hugs his daughter, "What's Arthur's middle name?"

"Oh!" Rose says, pulling back and smiling widely. "Ronald."

Ron sighs.

"There's nothing wrong with that name except for the last part. First, great. Middle, excellent. Last-"

I elbow him.

"Ron, you love Rosie's husband, don't you?"

Ron shrugs.

"At least Arthur's middle name isn't Dra-"

"Okay, we really must be going," I say. Rose nods and turns to her brother.

"Bet you still can't beat me downstairs."

"Seriously?" I moan. "Aren't you two a bit old for these sh-"

"Totally could!" Hugo retaliates, and my twenty six year old and twenty three year old run out of the room and proceed to race each other down the long, wide stairs. Rose becomes too exhausted after only the third step, seeing as she's just given birth, and I can hear her loudly asking for a rematch in a few months while Hugo lets out a whoop of victory.

"You think they're grown up, and then something like this happens," I complain endearingly.

"Well, at least they're not our responsibility anymore," Ron says soothingly, and I nod and turn around so that he can hug me. There's a pause, then he says, "So... I had dinner reservations tonight, but in light of what's happened, I think this was a Valentine's Day well spent, really."

I grin.

"That's true. Besides, we've done Valentine's Day together since we were eighteen. But when was the last time we had our first grandchild?"

"Never. Operative word being first."

"Smart arse," I whisper, before standing on my toes to kiss him. My hand trails up his chest, around his neck, and rests on the red hair sprinkled with bits of white. At first, when those started showing up, they shocked me. Now I'm used to them. They're in my hair, too, but Ron doesn't seem to mind. He's still Ron, and I'm still Hermione. Ron and Hermione. Forever and always. The way it was intended to be, I'm sure. We were made for each other. Made to be able to withstand all the jealousy and bickering and personality flaws and just_ love_ each other.

And love each other we have.

"Hey, Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I think it's time I tell you a story."


End file.
